


Midnight Theatre

by ficbear



Series: Mage [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Dom/sub, Fake Vampires, M/M, Magic, Masochism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roleplay, Sadism, Transformation, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Roleplay, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps I'm becoming too absorbed in the role, but I can almost feel the heat emanating from his bare skin. His flesh seems almost to glow, to gleam in the candlelight like porcelain. I'll have no trouble affecting the kind of hunger and lust he wants from me tonight, of that I have no doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Theatre

On a normal night, I'd be shivering and huddling against the wall for shelter from the wind. As gorgeous as the clothes I'm wearing are to look at, the flimsy black silk of this cloak does little to shield me from the cold. Thankfully for me, the same potion that gave my skin its current pallor and coolness also has the pleasant side-effect of making a winter night feel like a midsummer afternoon, and tonight I can stand on the balcony as if the cold air doesn't touch me at all. Still, I'm sure the sight of Claude preparing the room for my arrival would have kept me quite warm anyway, even without the potion's help.

I watch him through the crack in the balcony doors, and I can't help but marvel at his acting ability. He doesn't even glance towards the window as he straightens the bedclothes and starts to undress. Anyone would think he was unaware of my presence, certain he's alone. In his position, I'd be constantly looking out towards the balcony; knowing that there was someone waiting out there, waiting to sweep in and ravish me, how would I possibly contain my excitement? And yet Claude's act is perfect as he slips into the thin white nightgown I'll soon be tearing off him. He must be very well-practiced at this, despite his youth, and I must admit I'm a little envious of that.

He takes the crucifix from around his neck and drops it into the drawer of his bedside table, slamming the drawer closed as if he can't wait to get the thing out of sight. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he lies down on the bed, as he arranges himself carefully as if he's posing for a portrait. I watch as he loosens the collar of the nightgown, exposing his throat and a good part of his chest to my view, then closes his eyes and folds his hands neatly over his stomach. Perhaps I'm becoming too absorbed in the role, but I can almost feel the heat emanating from his bare skin. His flesh seems almost to glow, to gleam in the candlelight like porcelain. I'll have no trouble affecting the kind of hunger and lust he wants from me tonight, of that I have no doubt.

I let few minutes pass, just watching the anticipation on Claude's face. His eyes remain closed, and his body still, but his lips curl into a faint smile and his brows furrow just slightly as he waits. I can see every twitch of impatience and hope, written out on that pretty face. Once I'm happy he's waited enough, I give the balcony doors a quiet little push, just enough to make them swing open as if under their own power. The draught extinguishes each of the weakly-burning candles lighting the room, but the moon gives me enough light that I can still see the boy clearly, spread out and waiting for me like an offering. As I approach I can see the rise and fall of that half-bared chest as his breath quickens, the deepening pink of his cheeks as he begins to blush. If I didn't know better I'd think he really was ashamed of his desires.

He keeps his eyes resolutely closed as I lean across him, only opening them once my arms have slipped around him, and even then he gives me the flitting, faltering glance of a neophyte. I smile down at him, parting my lips just enough for him to see a hint of the fangs the enchantment has given me, and I can see in his eyes just how potent a sight it is. And if a glimpse excites him, their touch will all but set him alight. I pull him up to me, and he lies limp and weak in my arms, as light as if he were a paper doll. My lips brush his throat, and I feel him tense. My teeth scrape against his skin, teasing him for a moment, and he breathes in sharply as if afraid. Then finally I give him what he hungers for, piercing his flesh and letting the warmth of his blood spill into my mouth as he squirms and whimpers beneath me, and all of the preparation, all of the work is worthwhile. I'd do it a dozen times over, just to feel the boy surrendering to me like this again.

The heat of his body, of the smooth skin under my hands and the pulsing wound under my lips, is enough to make me groan against his flesh. I let the sound deepen into a growl, and I tighten my grip on him, grasping a handful of that soft blond hair in one hand and his shoulder in the other, digging my sharpened nails into his skin cruelly hard. I want him, I want him _now_ , and if this were an unscripted encounter I'd just flip him over and take my pleasure in him right here and now. But as much as I want him, I want even more to perform my role well, so I steel myself to resist a little longer.

"Please…" Claude moans quietly, clutching at my cloak and trying to pull me closer. I grab his wrists and push him down onto the bed, and with the augmented strength I've taken on for the evening, even that slight touch is enough to make him wince. He stays where I put him, looking up at me with those wide, dark eyes as I take hold of the front of his nightgown. When I rip it open, the thin fabric tears apart like tissue paper under my hands, and in moments the boy is naked and trembling beneath me, blushing darker than ever now that his arousal is clear. The urge to reach down and take hold of him is strong, but I resist. Soon I'll touch him, but not quite yet; first he must endure a little more torment.

I trail bloody kisses across his throat and chest, and this time I yank his head aside roughly enough to make him cry out. Claude wants to be hurt as much as seduced, after all, and I won't disappoint him. I hold him in place by the hair, and when I sink my teeth into the untouched side of his throat, this time there's no teasing in my approach. I let him feel the sting of it hard and deep, and this time he cries out loud enough to be audible outside. He sounds like a catamite being pushed to his limit, being given just a little more than his body can take, and there's as much pleasure and surprise as there is pain in that cry. It fades into a moan, and then into a whimper, as he begs for more. "Don't stop," he pleads, unrestrained and urgent now. "Please, don't stop…"

And _now_ I touch him, grazing my palm against the underside of his cock, and even that light caress is enough to make him buck and strain up to meet my touch. I move my hand away; he needs to wait a little more, just a little longer, until I've got him exactly where I want him for the finale of this show. Grabbing his waist, I lift him up like a ragdoll and turn him over, and now I can see his scars. They form ample proof of his experience, of how much strength and lust for pain the boy really has, and yet he seems so weak, so fragile under my hands. The contradiction only spurs me on. I kneel behind him, arranging him so that the bedroom door is directly in front of us, and it takes barely any force at all to hold him in position while I reach into the folds of the cloak for the little vial of oil.

"Please…" Claude begs, as I slide an oiled finger inside him. "Please, more…"

His flesh is almost unspeakably hot, soft and smooth like burning velvet, and the heat of him seems to only grow fiercer as I slip another finger in beside the first. I'd intended to tease him more, but the warmth of him is too enticing, and I can't resist any longer. Tonight I am, after all, a creature of unrestrained lusts and terrible appetites, and Claude is a helpless victim of my depravity. He claws at the bedclothes as I slide my cock into him, but despite all his moaning and squirming and whimpering he takes it easily, as easily as if he'd already been fucked today. That thought makes me smile; knowing this household, more likely than not he has.

"You're so cold…" Claude murmurs, reaching down to pleasure himself as I fuck him. With that hand stroking firmly over his own cock, the boy seems more a debauched plaything now than a victim, and I find myself wanting to remind him how powerless he is, how vulnerable, how helpless he is to resist me. Gripping a handful of his hair, I wrench him upright and pull his head to the side, and as my fangs sink into his flesh again he moans loudly enough that only a complicit observer would ignore the sound. But of course, our audience won't make his own entrance yet, not until I've properly laid the groundwork for the final act.

I run my nails down along Claude's chest and stomach, laying deep scratches across the length of his torso, and I'm not sure whether it's the pain or the steady rhythm of my cock grinding into him that has the boy trembling and stroking himself so frantically. I give him more of both, and another vicious bite to his throat, hard enough to drive a helpless wail from his lips. He doesn't want it to end, I can tell that much from the desperation in his voice, and I can't blame him. Nevertheless, his ravishment is almost complete, almost perfectly crafted to bring us to the climax of the scene. And now I judge it to be the right moment, now I want to feel the boy losing his mind beneath me, now at last I lift my lips from his throat and command him. "Come," I breathe against his skin. " _Now_."

He cries out as he climaxes, as pitifully as if I really were draining the life from him, and his body convulses, hot and exquisitely tight around me as he tenses under pleasure's onslaught. And now, only now, the bedroom door flies open and our third player joins the scene.

Looming in the doorway, a sharp-edged shadow in that dark suit and riding boots, Victor cuts a figure more menacing and exciting than I do. Before tonight, he had seemed merely charming, merely elegant; now, glaring at me with those fiery eyes as if he wants to tear me apart with his bare hands, he is a sight frightening enough to haunt the nightmares of any demon. It will be a challenge not to acquiesce at his first command.

"Release him, you monster!" Victor demands, striding across the bedroom to seize hold of me before I have a chance to react. Perhaps I don't quite have the speed to match my character, but I certainly have the strength, at least for tonight.

"You're too late, he's all but empty." I throw off Victor's grip, laughing as I pull out and drop Claude to the bed like a discarded toy. The boy lies there, watching through half-closed eyes, sprawling limply as if he really were on the edge of consciousness. But he's watching every moment of this, and my performance is far from over.

"Fiend…" Victor hisses, with what really does sound like anger; evidently the older half of the pair can act as well as the younger. Not wanting to push my luck with a lengthy speech, I settle for giving Victor a broad, scornful smile, and that seems to do the trick. He lunges at me, grabbing hold of my cloak again, only for it to come away in his hands. I take the opportunity to step aside, content simply to evade and taunt him for the moment, and it's only when Victor seizes my shoulder and brings his hand down across my face that I finally let him feel my borrowed strength. I lash out, making sure that my nails catch his cheek as I strike him, hard enough to raise a set of deep red scratches on his skin.

"There," I laugh, lunging towards him again before he can regain his balance. "Now you match your boy."

This time, though, my hand misses its mark. Victor wastes no time in retaliating, seizing hold of me and throwing me against the wall. I hit the bookcase hard enough to send its contents scattering across the floor, and on a normal night that would leave me bruised and broken, but not tonight. Tonight all it does it amplify the ferocious lust already burning in me, as if the pain is like a whetstone to all my appetites. I scrabble to my feet, preparing to launch myself at him again, but before I can make my move Victor pulls the crucifix from his jacket. He brandishes it as if it were a flaming torch, and I can't help but flinch. Perhaps my body remembers the pain inflicted by just this kind of silver trinket during my trials with this method, or perhaps I'm simply getting carried away with my role; regardless, the sight of the cross fills me with rage, and I scarcely have to act at all when I bare my teeth and hiss at him.

"You aren't so bold now, are you?" Victor advances on me, steering me with my aversion to the silver as if it were a leash around my neck, until my back is pressed flat to the wall. His smile is as hard and cold as the metal in his hand. "Perhaps you've a few centuries of experience behind that youthful face, but to me you're just a whelp who needs to be brought to heel."

He grabs hold of my shirt and pushes me toward the door, keeping me at arm's length all the while and holding the tip of the cross to my throat like a dagger. I can hear Claude getting to his feet as Victor manhandles me out of the bedroom, following us like a soft-footed ghost as we make our way down the stairs. The sound of Victor's boots against the wooden floor sounds all the more harsh for the contrast with those soft footsteps, and each step he takes is like the strike of a cane or the firing of a pistol, relentlessly and mercilessly chipping away at my defences. I can't help but wonder how many strikes from those boots it would take to break me entirely.

The basement is brightly lit, dotted with blazing lamps, and the dazzle of them hurts my eyes. On the floor, in the centre of the room, the manacles lie glinting in their fixtures. I picked them out myself, inspected and tested them, checked that the silver in them would be sufficient to hurt but not really damage me, and yet now they seem strange and frightening. Struggling against Victor's grip, I lash out with my nails and teeth, determined to give him at least a few more wounds for his trouble. It isn't until I feel the cross pressing down against the flesh of my shoulder that I finally hold still long enough for Victor to bind me, and even then I take up my struggle again as soon as the last manacle has locked shut around my wrist.

"These chains won't hold." I taunt him, pulling against the manacles, ignoring the sting of the silver against my skin. "I'll get free, and then–"

Victor puts a boot on my neck, and presses me down onto the floor. I see the flash of a blade in his hand, I hear the soft tearing of fabric, and then the warm air of the basement rushes in over the bare skin of my back. I know what's coming next, and the thought sends a little shiver of pleasure through me, enough to make my hips jerk forward against the floor. He laughs, and takes his foot off me, giving me enough time to push myself back up onto my hands and knees. And then the water hits my skin, and I cry out in pain like a wounded beast.

"You aren't going anywhere." Victor says, letting the trickle of it move down from my shoulders to the small of my back, scalding every inch of skin the concoction touches. I had given him two whole bottles of the imitation 'holy water', in my eagerness to make sure the scene ran smoothly; now I curse myself for mixing so much of the hateful liquid, for designing it to sting so bitterly. And I curse Victor, for enjoying my torment so much.

I can see Claude sitting at the edge of the room, watching as I taste the cruelty he enjoys every day. He looks thoroughly engrossed, as if he's never watched Victor with someone else before, which is of course far from the truth. Perhaps every time is as fascinating for him as the first, or perhaps he's merely indulging his master's taste for playing to an audience. Regardless, the boy's eyes follow Victor's every move.

"I'll get free," I continue, though now my voice is a little raw. "These chains will break, and then I'll finish what I started – I'll turn that delicious boy of yours into one of my kind, and there'll be nothing you can do but watch as he succumbs."

"Is that so?" The slow trickle of that accursed water finally stops. Then his boot drives into my side, and the force of the kick is enough to knock me over onto the floor. Air rushes out of me as pain spreads through my muscles, but there's enough of my borrowed strength left to make pushing myself upright easier than it should be.

I look back at him, smiling scornfully despite the ache in my torso. "Wait and see," I laugh, tugging at the manacles binding my wrists. "I'll turn him, and I'll make him _beg_ for it–"

The second kick is harder than the first, hitting me squarely in the stomach, and this time it really does knock the wind out of me. I cough and shudder, curled on my side for a moment, and before I have the chance to right myself Victor pulls me up by the hair. "Oh, there will certainly be begging tonight," he says,  setting me back on my hands and knees again, "but the supplicant will be you, not him."

It's then that I notice the scourge in Victor's hand. On a normal night, the sight would make me shiver, tonight, intoxicated by the strength still throbbing in my limbs, it fills me with boiling rage. I want the pain of it, that I can't deny, but that desire is matched by the determination to force Victor to his own limit; if I'm to submit to him, then he'll have to thoroughly break me first. I twist around, pulling against the manacles with all my strength. "Do your worst," I hiss, glaring up at him with my teeth bared. "And when you're exhausted, I'll–"

The swing of the lash cuts me off, burning across the length of my back, and my words become a yelp of outrage. The second strike hits my shoulders, the third grazes my ribs, and beyond that it becomes a blur of seething pain, crashing endlessly against my skin. I can hear in Victor's breathing the exertion he's throwing into every stroke, the vigour and sheer bloodlust that almost matches my own. The room is filled with the noise of leather snapping against my flesh, and my body answers every blow with a snarl of pain, a groan of frustration, and curse hissed through gritted teeth. And Victor's curt laughs of satisfaction are shot through the whole cacophony, digging into my pride like bitter, maddening thorns; if the chains binding me were to suddenly snap, the throat I'd attack first wouldn't be Claude's.

"Such a proud creature, and now look at you…." Victor's hand stills, and he circles around to stand in front of me. Crouching down, he jabs the handle of the lash under my chin and forces my head up. "Submit to me now, and I'll allow you to keep what little dignity you still have. Resist, and I'll force you to beg." Victor grasps a handful of my hair, and turns my head so that I'm looking directly at Claude. "You'll beg and plead like him, and like all the helpless youths you've bewitched before him."

My only response is to look up at Victor and laugh. We both know I won't submit tonight until my hand is forced. So of course I resist, struggling more violently than ever against my chains, howling in pain and rage as that scourge lays into my flesh again, and of course Victor is true to his word. He whips me viciously, expertly, mercilessly, until the whole of my body is throbbing with pain as if his lash can somehow touch every inch of me at once. I hiss and snarl, curse and rail against him, but I do not beg. I pull against the manacles and clench my fists until my nails cut into the flesh of my palms, but I do not beg. Sweat runs down my face, stinging my eyes and wetting my mouth, but I do not beg. Not until my limbs are shaking and my lip is bitten raw. Not until my stamina is almost at breaking point.

"Stop," I murmur, sagging forward against the floor. "Stop, please, I… I submit."

The lashing stops, and I feel Victor's boot on my neck again, pinning me down. Then the whole of my back is suddenly alight with new and fiercer pain as he empties the second bottle all over my raw skin. I cry out, trying to move out of the way, but I'm held fast under his heel. All I can do is claw at the ground beneath me, writhing under the slow and steady stream of agony that splashes across every wound and weal, until finally the bottle runs dry. Victor steps back, and that hand grasps my hair again, yanking me back up to my knees. My eyes are wet with tears, and I know he sees that clearly. He can see exactly how close to my limits he's brought me.

"I warned you," he says, smiling that cold smile, "and now that I've broken you in, I'm going to have my fun with you."

I kneel there, trembling with fear and desire, just as Claude had been an hour ago. Victor doesn't bother to unfasten my trousers, and instead just cuts the fabric away from my skin with his knife, pushing the remnants aside under I'm bare to the thighs. And then his hand moves over my rear, cupping and squeezing each buttock in turn, and my lips betray me before I know what I'm saying. "Please," I beg again, and my voice is little more than a whisper. "Please, fuck me."

"What a pitiful predator you are, in the end…" Victor taunts me as he runs an oiled fingertip down along the cleft of my ass, stroking and rubbing my flesh just firmly enough to earn a pathetic groan of need from me. He laughs at the sound, and withdraws his hand. I can feel the warmth of his body as he kneels behind me, and the teasing lightness of his flesh against mine, hovering just at the edge of taking me. "On your knees and begging to be fucked, like one of your own victims… How does it feel to be brought so low?"

I tug helplessly at the manacles, trying not to rise to the bait, and it feels as if I'm fighting myself as much as him. "Why don't–"

Victor pushes forward, and my words are drowned in a moan. He impales me mercilessly, filling me until it feels as if the heat of his flesh is burning me from the inside out, and he gives me barely a moment to adjust before he starts to move. Just as he'd thrown every ounce of strength into my whipping, now Victor fucks me with all the force he can muster. I can take it, but only just; my borrowed fortitude is waning, just as we'd planned it would, and every thrust of Victor's cock inside me seems successively harder to bear. I fight against my bonds, resisting even as my treacherous tongue is filling the room with moans and pleas.

"It's so hot, it burns…" I murmur, wishing I could get just one hand free to pleasure myself. Victor only laughs, and brings his hand up to my hair again. Yanking my head to the side, he presses the silver cross against the flesh of my throat, holding it there until the metal sears my skin. I cry out desperately, frantically, pulling at the chains that bind me with all my might, but it's hopeless. The manacles hold fast, and all I can do is take it, just as I take each vicious thrust of his cock, just as I took every stroke of his scourge, until at last he releases the cross and lets it fall to the floor.

"Please," I beg, pushing back against his hips, straining to take just a little more of him. "Please, more…"

He's so deep inside me, his flesh is so hot and unyielding, that I can barely think at all now. He's made a ravening beast of me, broken down every part of me until all that's left is the need to be fucked and hurt. Under his hands, I've become nothing more than an animal, frenzied and hungry and helpless. When Victor's hand reaches beneath me, and those warm fingers curl around the shaft of my cock, all I can do is moan and beg, pleading over and over until the words sound meaningless. His hand is as merciless giving pleasure as giving pain. He strokes me as if he were playing with a toy, dragging me along at whatever pace suits him, now dawdling and now rushing, until he's brought me right to the precipice of satisfaction. And there he holds me, just to hear me whimper and plead.

"Come. Now," he orders, mocking me with my own words, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure of it sharper. Control deserts me entirely, and I twist and thrash against my bonds, yelping pitifully as I come like the helpless victim he's made of me. Victor's hand draws every last ounce of pleasure out of me, wrings every last shudder and convulsion out of my body until I'm exhausted and panting beneath him. Now I really am nothing but a toy, an object to be used as he pleases. Now his satisfaction is all that matters. He fucks me in long, slow strokes, thrusting into me hard enough each time to make me whimper. The sting of the manacles is nothing compared to the slow burning ache of his cock impaling me again and again, ruthlessly and mercilessly, until I feel as if he's spearing me right through to the heart. Then with another mocking laugh, Victor floods me with the warmth of his seed, and it seethes as hot inside me as any holy water.

 

* * *

 

Claude sets the two glasses down on the table and goes off to fetch his own, and I can't help but watch in awe of his resilience; a few hours ago he was exhausted and weak, but now he seems barely aware of his wounds. He is as steady and graceful as if this were any ordinary Sunday morning, while I find myself struggling to stay awake and longing for the sanctuary of the guest bedroom now that the last of my temporary vigour has faded. Claude really is remarkable, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy Victor a little.

"You're sure you won't accept even a small contribution, for the cost of your materials?" Victor puts a hand on my arm, gentle and charming now, just as he was when I met the two of them.

"Oh, no, I couldn't, they really weren't that expensive." I smile at him, waving my hand as if to shoo the idea away. The reagents were certainly costly, but that's what my generous allowance is for, after all; experiments like this are exactly the sort that my patron encourages. It's only a shame our arrangement precludes any mention of him, and forces me to demur so vaguely. "And besides," I laugh, letting a little mischief creep into my smile, "now you owe me a favour."


End file.
